


meet you on the other side

by ElphabaInTheTARDIS, freloux



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, F/M, Pining, Ridiculous amounts of fluff, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-02-13 15:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12987120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElphabaInTheTARDIS/pseuds/ElphabaInTheTARDIS, https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: Lenore is a ghost that's been haunting the university for years. H.G. Wells is the cute new literature professor. It's true love.





	1. Prologue

The pain kind of sucks, but she doesn’t remember much about that. The coughing sucks, but that, too, is more of a hazy memory than anything else. What she remembers is the in-between part, where she just...left her body. Like one minute she was there, and the next she was feeling weightless and a little empty.

She looks back at herself, lying there all still and peaceful, and shrugs. Well, that happened.

Now she just has to find a new place to call home.

For a while she wondered if Guy would join her. He’d killed himself in his grief, it was totally tragic. But she waited...and waited….and waited. And nothing. She wouldn’t lie and say she wasn’t sad, but she also wasn’t surprised. Life had a way of not working out like you intended. Or afterlife, she supposed. That was going to take some getting used to.

And after all, Guy had been her love of the week - she hadn’t really known him, but the idea of getting married had always seemed fun so it was like, ok, here you are, let’s do this.

She wasn’t sure how she found the university, but it just felt right. Maybe it was one of the places she and Guy had wanted to get married at, but tbh that whole thing was kind of a whirlwind, so. Anyway, Lenore had kind of been drifting, both literally and figuratively. The university was in the area where she’d been alive, so it seemed like an obvious choice to stay close to her roots.

And the place itself was creepy but in a cool way? Totally her style. She could see herself haunting it for a long, long time.

She hadn’t really explored the school when she’d been alive. School wasn’t exactly her jam...she had way more fun at parties and being social. That’s where all the boys were anyways. But the university had a sort of timeless charm. Timeless beauty, like herself. 

She had been wandering through one of the older buildings on campus, opening up doors and just passing through them when they were locked. After a lot of this aimless floating, she finally found it: an attic. Tucked away behind a locked door and up an old and dusty (and clearly unused) staircase. 

Something about it drew her to it. Yes. This was perfect. This was her jam. It could use some work, but the low beams and spooky spiderwebs already made her feel at home. It was the kind of daydream-y, gothic romance vibe that she’d always loved reading about (and often ended up re-enacting).

She’d settled in immediately and began rearranging everything to be more….her. It turned out that a lot of the boxes held things that belonged to former students, and vintage was totally in. Old curtains were re-purposed into blocking off a dressing room area. Boyband posters went up everywhere, because a girl’s gotta have some eye candy. It took her awhile to figure out the bed situation. (Even lady ghosts need their beauty sleep every so often.) In the end, she found an bed frame in the corner, hidden under one of the eaves, and just took a bunch of pillows from the store downtown. (She wasn’t about to try and find old pillows somewhere, like ew.) (And she did remember to drop some money in the tip jar as she floated away, just to insure some karma.)

It was a cozy paradise, somewhere to float back to after a long day of haunting. Weird, she’d never really had a place of her own before.

And then a group of students had discovered her.

Totally the worst timing - Lenore was busy painting her nails when she heard some rowdy voices, whooping and laughing. Loud footsteps told her that the voices definitely belonged to frat boys. (Ick, definitely one of those places on campus that was never worth haunting, no matter how bored she was.)

The louder voice was yelling to the others to get them to hurry up. “What, you chicken?” it asked in a sneering voice. Lenore rolled her eyes and tried to finish painting her nails, but it was no use. The boys were pushing and daring each other, and if they got any closer, they’d -

Too late.

“Woah, someone lives here?”

Lenore turned around from the vanity she’d set up and put down her nail polish. The small gesture wasn’t lost on them - the boys noticed the spinning, empty chair and the tiny bottle seemingly moving on its own.

Oh, but that was just the beginning. Lenore wanted to teach them a lesson.

Thinking quickly, she floated over to some large storage boxes that she’d long since determined were full of junk. Summoning all her strength, she pushed over a whole stack of them.

The boys immediately screamed and cursed. “Oh, shit, it really is haunted!” one of them yelled. They continued yelling and teasing each other all the way down the stairs and out the door.

Lenore smiled to herself and dusted her hands off.

There. Now the attic really was hers.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lenore is a ghost that's been haunting the university for years. H.G. Wells is the cute new literature professor. It's true love.

_ Many years later… _

 

Summer ended up being a complete drag. There weren’t enough people to scare, so Lenore got really bored. There were only so many times she could spook the janitor or the lone professors who took summer to do research in their offices before their reactions got too predictable. Too normal. So boring.

 

When September hit and all the students arrived, it was like Christmas or something. All these new people who had never seen her before! She couldn’t wait to start drifting around looking beautifully tragic. 

 

Lenore decided to start with one of the classrooms she really liked. It was an atrium kind of thing and had vaulted ceilings that filled the room with light. Very spooky yet romantic.

 

Especially since - “Oh my god,” Lenore breathed as she floated in the corner. There was this new teacher, handing out syllabi with a kind of nervous excitement. It was  _ so _ cute. He had goggles or something around his neck, and wore an extremely dorky vest that seemed more like something from Lenore’s era than anything else. He seemed to be trying to call the class to attention and failing. 

 

It was too cute. Lenore felt just a little bit bad for him as students continued to talk with each other instead of listening to the man at the front of the room. She floated over to the light switch and flicked it off and then on again. Quick enough so that the room was not plunged into total darkness...but just enough that the students silenced enough for the professor to gain control of the room.

 

And that’s when Lenore finally heard his voice now that the room was (relatively) quiet.

 

His voice was soft, with the faintest hint of a British accent. Each word seemed chosen with intention: serious, in control, and completely excited about the subject at hand. Which, at the moment, seemed to be a detailed analysis of a book about aliens. Lenore would have laughed if it weren’t for how captivated she suddenly was. He obviously cared about this a lot, and it made her want to care, too.

 

At the end of class, Lenore was all ready to float down and ask for his name, when she remembered her ghost status. Which meant that he probably couldn’t see her, and probably just thought that the light thing could be explained away as faulty electricity in an old building.

 

The thought made Lenore sad for reasons she couldn’t fully articulate. Regardless, he was writing his name out on the board, so she could spare herself the embarrassment.  _ H.G. Wells _ , scrawled out in looping cursive.

 

***

 

H.G. sank into the chair at the front of the classroom as the last student filtered out for the day. He knew teaching was going to be difficult but he had certainly underestimated exactly how difficult it would be. Convincing a group of 19-20 year olds that science fiction literature was a subject they should care about and not just do the bare minimum required to pass the class was already proving to be a daunting task. Most of the students, he’d gathered, were simply taking the class to fulfill their literature requirement, and supposedly this was the “easy” class. He would have taken offense but given the reputation of the previous teacher, he was not surprised. Professor Hemingway had been...eccentric, to say the least. And a man who clearly hated the genre, given the notes H.G. had found strewn about his new office when he’d moved in. 

 

His first order of business, he mused, was to re-decorate the office. Hopefully doing so would also get rid of the stench of alcohol that seemed to almost permeate the entire place.

 

He sighed and put his head in his hands. Already it was shaping up to be a long and difficult year, and this was just the first  _ day _ .

 

After allowing himself to wallow in self-pity for (well, longer than he’d care to admit), H.G. finally got up and began to pack his things in a leather carrying case. He muttered darkly to himself as he snapped the latches shut.

 

It was then that he heard a rustling noise. H.G. looked up and saw someone he guessed was a student who just hadn’t left yet. She was standing close to the lights with her head tilted to one side, like she’d been studying him.

 

Whoever she was, this woman was  _ gorgeous _ . She had wavy dark brown hair that was pulled back in a half-updo that framed her face, and had a cute little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

 

The weirdest thing about her, though, was her outfit. She must be from the theater department because she was wearing a wedding dress of all things. H.G. felt a bizarre flicker of jealousy at the thought that she might actually be married.

 

He frowned, shook his head to clear the thought, and lifted a hand to wave at her. The woman’s expression changed to one of shock. She waved back - and disappeared.

 

***

 

H.G. knew he wasn’t crazy. Sure, a bit weird, maybe - especially given the kinds of things he wrote - but as reasonably sane as the next person.

 

So there had to be a reasonable explanation for why someone could just vanish in front of his eyes. A trick of the light. Too little sleep. Something like that.

 

There wasn’t a good explanation, though, for why he kept seeing her. She would sit in the back of the classroom, listening to him, and then wave before disappearing again.

 

One day she held up a note:  _ Can you see me? _

 

“I, um,” H.G. stuttered, then realized that all of his students were staring at him.

 

She wrote something else.  _ You’re really cute when you’re flustered. _

 

H.G. tugged at his cravat, trying to remember exactly what it was he’d meant to say.

 

Before he could respond, she’d disappeared once more. Vanished into thin air, it seemed. 

 

It was then that he realized that his students were still staring at him with confused and semi-amused expressions on their faces. Right. He had a lecture to finish, not spend time daydreaming beautiful women wearing wedding dresses. (Because she had to be a daydream, right?)

 

“Um...you’re...we’ll pick back up next week. Class dismissed.” H.G. felt his dignity dropping with each word. He internally swore he would figure out who this mysterious woman was. Someone else had to have seen her. He couldn’t be the only one.

 

And of course, there had to be a rational explanation. People don’t just...disappear in front of you.

 

He gathered his things and quickly left, but not before glancing back at the spot where the woman had been sitting. She was still gone. Shaking his head, he left the classroom and headed towards his office. Perhaps he could catch one of the other lecturers before the next classes started. They might be able to help him figure this out.

 

***

 

Lenore had never really been one for literature. Romance novels full of swooning and drama were super fun, but this whole science fiction thing was never something she’d ever considered.

 

But when H.G. talked about it his passion made her want to learn more about it. Plus if it meant more sitting in on his classes and making him flustered, that was a bonus.

 

Now, though, he’d just ended class and taken off. Was it her fault? There was a weird fluttery feeling in her stomach about him leaving and that was  _ super _ weird given that she was dead and stuff. His class was the only time she saw him and she knew she wouldn’t see him until next week now. 

 

A week was too long to wait. She was a ghost with all the time in the world, so why waste it?

 

Before she could stop herself she was floating out of the classroom after H.G. to see what his deal was. Plus maybe she could terrify a few passing students along the way. No need to completely stop haunting the place just because she had a crush.

 

“Oh my god I am too old and fabulous to have something as silly as a  _ crush _ ,” she said aloud to no one, forgetting for a moment that if she spoke, students could hear her...and now she was in the hallway and there were  _ many _ students. The confused stares and quick glances around to see where the voice had come from would never get old.

 

She smiled to herself as she floated along aimlessly down the hallway, looking for his office. Every so often she passed stacks of paper and dusted them up with the hem of her dress. The professors here were probably used to her by now, even if they couldn’t see her - Lenore liked to play around with the lights and make spooky noises. Once she’d dropped a really heavy dictionary outside an open office door. The way the professor inside had jumped was  _ perfect _ .

 

The thought occurred to her that maybe someone had told H.G. about her. What if that meant he knew who she was? What if he was now avoiding her as a result?

 

***

 

The fact of the matter was, someone  _ had _ told H.G. about Lenore. Just as she was floating along in search of him, H.G. was standing outside the cafeteria, clutching a tray in his hands, while he heard her story for the first time.

 

“...and you know that these things are caused by a ghost haunting our very halls?” someone was saying. H.G. nearly dropped his tray. A ghost? Certainly there was a more rational explanation than that. 

 

“It’s true!” Another voice chimed in and H.G. found that he wanted to hear where exactly this story was going. “She haunts the halls searching for her lost love. She killed herself on her wedding day you know. Tragic. Seems her fiancé left her at the altar for his mistress and in her misery she killed herself. Now she’d haunting the place looking for him. Some frat boys ages ago thought they saw her. Apparently she lives in the attic.” 

 

H.G. shook his head and walked over to the group. There just  _ had _ to be a more rational explanation. Ghosts didn’t exist, after all.

 

“I can’t help but overhear...Oscar, are you saying that a ghost lives here? At the university?” H.G. tried to keep the amusement out of his voice, but it was impossible with the absurdity of the claims he was hearing.

 

Ghosts. Really?

 

“Oh but of course. I’m sure you’ve seen evidence of her presence! Lights flickering, papers stirring out of nowhere. Some even say they’ve seen her...a beautiful haunted soul wearing the wedding dress that she killed herself in.”

 

H.G. felt his heart flutter...a sort of odd sensation crept over his body as realization dawned.

 

The woman in his classroom. It...it couldn’t be her. _A_ _ghost??_

 

“Are you okay, there, H.G.? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The table collectively roared with laughter. H.G. rolled his eyes at his colleagues and made his excuses and quickly fled from the room. 

 

It was time to do some research of his own.

 

The thing was, he had no idea where to start.

 

***

 

As it happened, he didn’t have to go very far. His office, in fact, was far enough. The woman was sitting (floating?) in his chair when he opened the door. 

 

“It’s you,” H.G. said softly as she floated towards him.

 

She looked at him for a moment, the same way she had when she’d realized he could see her. Surprised, definitely, but also pleased. She tossed her hair over one shoulder and curtsied. “Here I am.”

 

“Can I ask what your name is? I heard a lot about you, but no one ever mentioned your name.”

 

Now she looked disappointed, but that expression left her face too quickly for H.G. to be certain. “It’s Lenore. Oooooh, what else have you heard about me?”

 

“Um - it’s all pretty sad, really. You were engaged to some guy and he left you at the altar on your wedding day and then you...um. Well it seems you killed yourself in your heartache and now you roam these halls forever searching for him…” H.G. trailed off as he saw the woman’s face turn to one of disgust. 

 

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” Lenore said. She stomped her foot, but the effect was kind of lost since she was still floating about a foot off the ground. “As if I’d be so dramatic to kill myself over some guy. And not just some  _ guy.  _ His name  _ was  _ Guy. Guy DeVere. He was just you know...the love of my life. That week. Love of my life that week.” She sighed dramatically. “Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.”

 

H.G. narrowed his eyes at her. “So what  _ really _ happened?”

 

Lenore instantly perked back up. “Oh, the usual. Some kind of illness. Not really sure what, tbh. Happens to the best of us. Even to us hot people.”

 

“Ok…” H.G. replied slowly. “And what are you doing here, then?”

 

“Good lord, what is this, Twenty Questions?” Lenore asked. But she grinned anyways. “No worries, I really love talking about myself -”

 

“- I kind of noticed -”

 

“- and you’re the first person here who’s ever really been able to see me, so this is all very exciting.”

 

H.G. paused for a moment as he processed her words. “Wait...you mean that...no one can see you?”

 

Lenore flipped her hair behind her head and sighed again. “Well it’s not like  _ no one _ can see me. I have to, like, really concentrate for anyone to see me and even then they just see a small bit. Like a glimpse and then  _ poof _ I’m gone. It makes for totes great haunting. But you...you I don’t have to concentrate around. You just...see me.”

 

H.G. paused for a moment, considering. “So then...why haunt here? At the university? Certainly there are better places?”

 

“Oh but this is  _ perfect _ !” Lenore exclaimed. “There’s people everywhere and every year there’s new people and it’s so much fun to scare them. Plus, like, I can just move to a different building if I get bored. It’s so much fun.” She attempted to spin herself around in the chair with the last sentence and failed miserably. Sometimes being a ghost sucked.

 

“But that’s enough about me...what about you...Professor Wells, was it?”

 

“Oh, please, call me H.G.,” he interrupted as his ears turned slightly red.

 

“Oooooh! What does H.G. stand for?” Lenore asked to tease him, but she found herself genuinely curious about his name. And  _ oh my god _ he was even cuter when he blushed.

 

“I couldn’t possibly tell you. It’s terribly embarrassing.”

 

Lenore smirked, finally standing up from the chair. “Well then, Professor H.G. Wells. I guess I’ll just have to find out then, won’t I?” 

 

And then she vanished into thin air. Again. 

 

And then H.G. saw the time and realized he was late for class. And hadn’t eaten his lunch. He cursed and left his office. Teaching on an empty stomach was not ideal but wasn’t as though he hadn’t done it before.

 

When he walked into the classroom, he saw Lenore sitting in the back of the room with a smirk on her face.

 

This was going to be a long day.

 

At least, so he thought. Lenore seemed to be focused on him, as usual, but now with a different kind of intent. Like she was actually listening, instead of being annoying on purpose. (Although that was nice, too - he wasn’t used to having someone care enough to be annoying.) Once during class he even caught her raising her hand, only to lower it again when she remembered he was the only one who could really see her. They shared a secret smile about that.

 

H.G. ended the lecture with a beautiful suspended feeling of - was this what happiness felt like? Whatever it was, it carried him through the flurry of essays that his students tossed on his desk. He didn’t even care that some of them had been abandoned on the floor: he just hummed quietly to himself as he shuffled them together.

 

He noticed that some of them were muttering about him as they walked out, hefting their backpacks and gossiping. But he didn’t particularly care about that, either. “God, do you think he has a girlfriend or something?” “Beats me, he’s acting really weird today…” “...wouldn’t be the first time…”

 

“What’s up, goofball? And why are they talking about you like that?”

 

Lenore floated in front of him now, hands on her hips.

 

“They think I have a girlfriend and that that’s why I’m so weird.”

 

Lenore giggled and floated over to perch herself on the edge of his desk. “Listen, I think you’re still weird, girlfriend or no girlfriend.”

 

H.G. lifted an eyebrow at her. “Wow, thanks.”

 

“It’s actually a compliment,” Lenore explained. “Weird people are more interesting. And I would know since I’m a ghost so I have a  _ lot _ of experience with weird things.”

 

She continued on like this for some time. It was actually pretty nice to listen to, Lenore just chattering away while he gathered up his things and returned them to his office. He got a few strange looks as he went - since essentially it looked like he was just talking to himself - but he was a bit too preoccupied to pay that much attention.

 

“And so then I said, Guy, if you don’t do that right now I’m going to -”

 

Lenore’s train of thought suddenly came to a screeching halt. “Wait. You said something about a girlfriend. You don’t actually gave a girlfriend, do you?”

 

H.G. looked up from the stack of papers he had been in the middle of mindlessly sorting and chuckled. “No...no, no girlfriend. What with all the time spent here and well…” he gestured about the office at the various knick knacks and gadgets and papers scattered everywhere. “Let’s just say there hasn’t been much interest.”

 

Lenore felt an odd sensation in her stomach, feeling caught between sadness at H.G.’s evident loneliness and something like hope, possibility. Which was weird seeing as she was  _ dead _ and all. And definitely didn’t have weird feelings anywhere or anything. Kind of interrupted the whole mysterious and other-worldly vibe she had going for her.

 

She realized H.G. was staring at her with an amused look on his face and realized she’d be silent for a few moments. 

 

“Not that, like, I need to know or anything. Just figured I should get to know the one person who can see me. Wouldn’t want a girlfriend to think you were totally weird talking to yourself or something if she couldn’t see me.”

 

H.G. smiled at her. “Right. Good to know.”

 

She was compelled to smile back. Then Lenore realized he was getting up and leaning towards her. “What are you doing?” she asked softly. Her voice sounded weird to her own ears. Almost tinny, like it was coming through an old-timey radio like the kind she’d seen once. Mostly she just sounded scared, which made no sense because,  _ duh _ , ghost.

 

H.G. reached towards her hair and ran his fingers through it, brushing away some of the curls that framed her face. “Sorry,” he said softly, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. Besides, in Lenore’s opinion he had nothing to apologize for. In fact, she kind of wanted him to touch her hair again - if only for the simple fact that he could, and that she hadn’t been touched for a very long time. She’d forgotten what that felt like. “You just had something caught there.” He gestured absently at the side of his face to indicate where it had been on hers.

 

Lenore touched her hair where his fingers had been and felt the strange fluttering sensation in her stomach pick back up. Which was totally disorienting.

 

“Excuse me...Professor Wells?”

 

The moment popped like a bubble. Lenore felt relieved but also kinda sad. As H.G. turned to speak with his student it gave her the perfect “out” and she quickly disappeared from the office without H.G. noticing. 

 

Later when she returned, she found his office empty and the lights turned off. She floated down to his desk and saw a hastily scribbled note with her name on it.

 

“I teach tomorrow morning. I’ll see you there?”

 

And even though no one was around, and no one would hear anyway, Lenore clutched the note to her chest and spun around and said  _ yes _ .

 

***

 

It wasn’t that different, really - or shouldn’t have been - since she’d been to so many of his classes before. Yet now Lenore felt nervous. Finally a name to all that weirdness. She frowned at herself in the reflection of her mirror. If only she had more time she could find the most fabulous dress that would leave him a stuttering mess. 

 

She’d spent hours on her hair, and even longer on her makeup. She wanted to look nice. Like, of course she always did - she knew she was hot stuff, obviously - but now.

 

Now she knew that there was something going on, that H.G. would want her in class. She’d never been wanted before, or at least not in a way that felt serious, felt true.

 

“I’ve been reading way too many romance novels,” Lenore mumbled to herself before floating down to his class.

 

She sat in the back row as usual, where fewer people sat, and gave him a cheerful wave as he walked in.

 

Then she whistled lowly, and clearly she wasn’t the only one who was impressed because all the other girls in class (and one or two of the guys) now sat up a little straighter.

 

Because man, he had put in some effort, too. H.G. was wearing a button-down shirt that looked new. He’d rolled up the sleeves to reveal surprisingly toned forearms. Those goggles he often wore were missing, and instead he’d combed back his hair in a way that was fresh and youthful.

 

He was still super cute of course, but now it really showed.

 

Every so often during class he’d look up at her and smile. Lenore positively glowed and couldn’t help but smile back. 

 

She didn’t remember any of that day’s lecture, but the image of him teaching in those clothes would stay with her for weeks to follow.

 

***

 

September had passed warm and green, but now it was October and fall settled in, crisp and cool in shades of brilliant orange.

 

Lenore and H.G. had settled into a regular pattern. She came to class and sat in the back and watched class, sometimes providing written commentary for H.G. to see, sometimes just watching. Then they met after class in his office and talked. Sometimes H.G. brought dinner with him and the conversations drifted into the evening hours. H.G. would grade his student’s essays while Lenore told him about all the gossip she heard about each individual student.

 

When he wasn’t grading, H.G. tried to find out more about Lenore. His fascination with her had developed into a fondness he couldn’t exactly describe. He wanted to know  _ everything _ about her. He’d taken to writing everything down in a notebook which Lenore teased him about relentlessly. Something about her “just being another experiment for you” or something. But she always said it with a smile, so he thought nothing of it.

 

He couldn’t help being curious. For the first time in a long time, H.G. felt like life had a point. He looked forward to his conversations with Lenore and found himself anxious to get to campus each morning and reluctant to leave each night.

 

She was, well, beautiful.

 

And H.G. very much felt like a small schoolboy with a crush whenever she was around.

 

The whole thing was silly and ridiculous and didn’t make any sense, but that’s another reason why it felt so good. He was used to rules and clear explanations, but Lenore didn’t have any. She just drifted wherever she wanted, and if she was curious about something, she asked.

 

It was inspiring.

 

He felt like he had to do something to show her - he had to let her know what this, what she, meant to him. H.G. kept trying and failing to come up with something good. Flowers seemed too cliche, and he legitimately didn’t know what else to do because Lenore was a ghost and she’d probably seen it all already.

 

That gave him an idea. Halloween was approaching and he overheard some of the other teachers gossiping again. Something about a harvest festival. Professor Wilde was being extra dramatic again - H.G. could hear him clear across the other side of the teachers’ lounge.

 

“Oh but there will be festivities! Everything celebrating all things fall and wonderful! All of the food! The drinks! The decor! The ambiance!” Professor Wilde dragged each exclamation out with flair, drawing the attention of everyone else in the lounge, along with several judgemental headshakes, H.G.’s included.

 

Still, he couldn’t help but imagine taking Lenore to see it all, so he decided to ask her after class the next day.

 

“A  _ what _ ?” Lenore asked. She stopped in the middle of folding one of his students’ essays into a paper airplane.

 

“A harvest festival,” H.G. repeated, taking the essay gently out of her hands and folding it smooth again. “Professor Wilde said it will be a ‘celebration of all things fall and wonderful.’” He made exaggerated air quotes, hoping it would distract her from how nervous he was, how badly he wanted her to say yes.

 

She looked up at him and lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll think about it.”

 

***

 

H.G. felt a bit silly. 

 

He stood against the wall at the festival with a drink in his hand, waiting. He’d made pleasantries with the other professors and staff when he’d arrived but he feared they all could tell he was distracted. Luckily for him the other staff members had long ago become used to his brain being seemingly elsewhere. 

 

Lenore hadn’t given him an answer about the festival. In the days leading up to it, H.G had tried to ask her again if she’d be there but she always responded by changing the subject. And then of course, he became distracted with his ongoing study into how and why he could see her but no one else could. As a man interested in science, his curiosity certainly got the better of him.

 

The festival itself was a rather grand affair. Oscar, it seemed, had taken it upon himself to ensure that all manners of frivolity were happening at the festival. Color had seemingly exploded everywhere but in a bizarrely tasteful sort of way. Oscar himself was decked out in a rather loud orange suit and was excitedly (and loudly) greeting every guest at the party. H.G. had only barely dodged him.

 

He checked his watch nervously. He was sure he’d told Lenore the right time...after all, he’d only reminded her every moment he’d had a chance.

 

And then he saw her and now knew what it was like to be truly speechless.

 

She was wearing a different dress. The soft blue color brought out a glow he hadn’t realized she’d possessed. It was simpler than her normal wedding dress. Elegant. Radiant. She would turn heads...if the rest of the world could see her, that is.

 

She made her way towards H.G. and he realized by her smirk that he was staring at her, lost in thought.

 

“So like...is this what you guys do for fun around here?” 

 

H.G. didn’t answer. He was still staring. Lenore shook her head.  _ Men. _ She snapped her fingers in front of his face and he stepped back, shocked. Lenore giggled at his shock, which caused his face to turn a wonderful shade of scarlet. 

 

“Thing is, I wouldn’t really know,” H.G. admitted, taking another sip of his drink just to have something to do. “I don’t get out much.”

 

He found himself glancing over his shoulder every now and again. If anyone looked over, they’d just see him rambling into thin air. They’d think he was crazier than they already did. (He’d gotten use to the weird looks in the teachers’ lounge when his colleagues saw him hunched over a sandwich and all his science books, trying to solve the mystery of Lenore.) 

 

Lenore caught him checking his surroundings. “Something wrong?”

 

“No, no, I, that is. Do you want some punch?” he blurted. Then he realized how stupid that would look, just handing a glass to, well, thin air and having it float there.

 

“Sure…?” Lenore replied.

 

H.G. got all confused with being self-conscious about the punch and wanting to give it to her that he ended up sloshing half of it out of the glass and the other half onto his outfit. 

 

He swore to himself and grabbed a bunch of paper napkins printed with dancing pumpkins. In the meantime Lenore had taken the glass of punch and was sipping it cautiously.

 

H.G. looked up from mopping his shirt with the napkins and swore again. Oscar was headed towards them, clearly on the verge of sharing a long, narcissistic story.

 

“Quick, let’s get out of here,” H.G. hissed. He made to grab for Lenore’s hand, thought about how stupid  _ that _ would look, and just ran.

 

***

 

Lenore floated after a clearly panicked and flustered H.G. To be completely honest, she had no idea why they were fleeing. H.G. had just...taken off. And seeing as the party was going to be  _ totally _ boring when she couldn’t interact with anyone else, she followed after him.

 

Finally arriving at his office H.G. barely even waited for her to enter before slamming the door shut and leaning against it, breathing heavily.

 

Lenore waited a moment. Then another. And now it was awkward.

 

“Soooo, like...what was that?” 

 

H.G. jumped, startled. “Oh...um. Well you see...it’s...well...none of the other faculty can see you. And we were...I mean. Oscar was coming to talk to us. Me. And they’ve all been talking and wondering why I’ve become so obsessed with ghosts and lore when it’s not my subject area and well... you see...I didn’t want to explain things to him or deal with one of his narcissistic long-winded stories and you...you…” he gestured to her helplessly.

 

“I’m what?” Lenore asked. 

 

“You’re...you’re a ghost.” The response sounded lame to even his ears.

 

“And that means what? You have to hide? I’m invisible to everyone else remember?”

 

“But that’s the thing!” H.G. exclaimed. “No one else can see you! You’re….you’re invisible but I can still see you and I don’t know why. There’s no scientific reason for it. It shouldn’t be happening, I shouldn’t be able to even see you! Oscar couldn’t see you. The others can’t see you but there’s...there’s been talking. Muttering. They….they think I’m...well….crazy.” His voice trailed off as he saw something flash through Lenore’s eyes. 

 

H.G. pressed his fingers against his temples in frustration. He had no real explanation for why he’d run from the party. And no real explanation for why he was the only one who could see Lenore. And no explanation for the feelings he was feeling towards her. 

 

Or at least, an explanation that he didn’t feel comfortable going after until he’d figured out the first two. Or so he kept telling himself.

 

“So you think that just because I’m a ghost that I don’t have feelings? That I don’t hear what people say about me, even if they can’t see me?” Lenore was staring him down, fists clenched fiercely at her sides. “That I’m just some creepy spirit ruining frat boy fun?”  _ You’re the one who pushed them away, _ a little voice whispered inside her head.  _ And now you’re doing the same to him. _

 

“I can’t believe you, H.G. You of all people - I thought you were different since you seemed so interested in me, but now I guess you just wanted to  _ research _ me for your dumb novels or something,” Lenore continued. “I thought - I thought you actually liked me,” she finished softly.

 

Before H.G. could respond, she slowly turned transparent until she finally faded completely.


	3. Chapter Two

To H.G. it felt like an eternity had passed since Halloween and the Harvest Festival, although in reality, it had only been a few weeks.  
After Lenore had disappeared he’d waited and assumed she would come back and things would go back to how they were. And then the minutes passed, and then hours. And then reality had set in. She wasn’t coming back, at least not tonight - or maybe ever.

The next week when he went to his office to prepare for class, she wasn’t there to bombard him with questions about that week’s text, or to make snarky comments about his students’ papers.

In class, he looked towards her usual seat, but it was empty. Her absence was unsettling. And distracting. He spent much of class glancing up at the empty seat expecting to see Lenore there watching him or smirking at him. The empty chair was a constant reminder that she was gone. Each time he looked at it his speech faltered and he would stutter, something students began to pick up on based on the confused and concerned looks he was now getting. He ended class early and barely paid attention to the passing remarks the students made as he quickly exited the classroom. “What happened? He was so excited on Friday…” “He seems so sad!” “Did his girlfriend dump him?”

Each comment was like a little sting, a fresh reminder that Lenore was gone.

Life was so lonely without her. He hadn’t realized quite how much she’d meant to him until she wasn’t there. H.G. didn’t really talk to the other teachers - especially since he’d started researching/hanging out with Lenore, they’d just given him a wide berth and made it clear just how weird they thought he was. As for the research itself, he didn’t really have the heart for that either anymore. It was just another thing he’d shared with Lenore - and that had pushed her away in the end.

  
***

  
Lenore felt lost. She was so used to just drifting places that the university, with its ivy-covered walls and drafty buildings, had become an anchor for her. If she was the kind of person to admit things - not that she ever was, because feelings were lame and she didn’t care about people anyway - H.G. had become an anchor, too. She didn’t realize how used to H.G.’s class she’d become until she didn’t have to go anymore. Not that anyone had, like, forced her to go in the first place. But it was the most interesting class out of the rest in the building.

(She had tried to attend other lectures. Professor Wilde, while entertaining, was just too much. Too dramatic. And then the poetry class was taught by such a forgettable professor that Lenore found herself falling asleep. And ghosts don’t need sleep. Except her beauty sleep, but that was different.)

Even scaring kids away from her attic wasn’t fun anymore, despite the brief distraction it provided.

Once, and only once, he had tried to visit and invade her attic. Her space - the one place where he hadn’t ever been and was truly hers. Lucky for her, she’d thought ahead of time to jam the lock shut...more so to keep the dumb college kids out because she did not have the energy to scare them off right now. She only knew it was H.G. when she heard him asking someone else if they were sure they had the right key. She felt her heart jump to her throat at the sound of his voice. (Which was weird considering she was dead and all.)

She was almost touched that he’d tried to visit her. Almost. She was still mad and angry women don’t just swoon when their love comes groveling back to them. Besides, he still hadn’t apologized, so there was that.

And of course she heard the chatter about H.G. It was almost impossible to avoid since it seemed like the whole school knew about “that weirdo in the English department - no, not that one, the one with the goggles.”

As much as she tried to forget about him, something kept drawing her back. Feelings are dumb.

She didn’t even realize it had been weeks of this until she looked outside and saw students hurriedly rushing to class in what looked like the first snow of the season. Soon the term would be over and the students would be gone. And she’d go back to being bored.

And alone.

  
***

Time passed as it always did. When he was younger, H.G. had been fascinated by time. He thought about ways he could travel through it...before he was laughed at by his peers and his teachers told him it was impossible. So instead he’d turned to reading. Reading about worlds where the impossible was possible and where things that shouldn’t be able to happen could.

Lenore shouldn’t have been possible based on everything he’d known. She should have been impossible.

And that scared him.

Not in a frightening way, but more like a,“this is impossible and science doesn’t work here” kind of way. And in a “she’s beautiful and I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with her” kind of way.

But feelings are dumb. Like how he couldn’t stop thinking about her, or kept thinking he’d run into her, see her again in the back row of his class in what he’d come to think of as her spot.

He felt unmoored and awkward without her presence there to encourage him.

He wanted to fix things. But in order to fix things he had to...you know...know where Lenore was. Or what she was doing. He’d even tried to go up to the attic in search of her once but the door was mysteriously locked and wouldn’t open even after he’d bribed the night custodian into using their master key to open it.

But at the same time he couldn’t (and wouldn’t let himself) believe that she was gone for good. He’d see a flash of a white dress disappearing around a corner sometimes or he’d return to his office and find things just slightly out of place. Things that to any other person would sound, well, crazy.

Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe he was just looking for her in every corner.

While research and science had been a point of pain lately, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he could devise some sort of plan to convince her to come back. Even just for long enough for him to apologize and then he could live the rest of his life in mortification alone.

Plus if he threw himself into his research enough, the pain went away.

Planning began in full force. Although the term had now ended, and his stack of papers to grade had grown taller and taller, H.G. didn’t even notice. His office had slowly been taken over by his equipment to the point where the building manager had asked him to move things to a larger space so the custodians could still come in and clean. Moving to a new space to work helped him focus. It felt like a fresh start. He didn’t have to look over and see his empty chair and miss seeing Lenore spinning around in it while she asked him questions. He no longer had to glance up at the door and hope to see her floating there. He could start his work with renewed fervor.

But not before hastily writing a note to Lenore - one he suspected she’d never read, but he told himself that it wasn’t completely foolish to hold on to hope. At least if he kept telling himself that maybe some part of him would begin to actually believe it.

  
***

Lenore waited until the evening to visit H.G.’s office. It reduced the risk that she’d run into him. Not that she was avoiding him on purpose, no, not at all. (She still hadn’t decided whether that was true or not.)

Lately, though, there had been less and less of him around. It was like he was starting to do his work elsewhere. Maybe that meant he’d moved on and she was the one left to wallow in this. She shook herself. Lady ghosts don’t angst about things!

Right?

There were, however, a few books and papers he’d left behind. Fittingly they were all about her. That just proved her point.

Lenore drifted a dismissive, manicured hand over one of the books, which dusted up an envelope that had her name on it. Hmm. Probably a breakup letter since he was obvs too cowardly to actually talk to her and, y’know, she didn’t exactly have a cellphone.

But Lenore was nothing if not curious, so she ripped open the envelope anyway.

_My dear Lenore_ , it began. _I cannot dare to hope that you will actually read this, but if you do, know this…_

“I never stopped loving you,” Lenore read aloud. It made the words seem more real when she actually said them. “You are truly the most fascinating and beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

It wasn’t until she wiped at her eyes that she realized she’d started crying.

She continued reading the rest of the letter as quickly as she could because she just _had_ to know what had happened to him.

_...It seems that my constant expansion of my experiments has upset the maintenance staff so I have been asked to move to the science facilities downstairs. If you find that I am not here in my office the evenings, you may find me there._  
_Until then, I am yours._  
_H.G._

Lenore had barely finished the letter when she heard an explosion. It sounded like it had come from underneath her. From the science department.

“H.G.,” Lenore murmured. Oh, _no_.

She fled the office and the letter fluttered to the ground, forgotten.


	4. Chapter Three

It was worse than she expected. Lenore had never really been in the science department - before H.G., she hadn’t been into science at all. But now she’d never know because most of it was gone now. There was a smoldering crater in one corner, through which Lenore could see the snow gently falling outside. It blew in and started to coat machinery she didn’t recognize - wouldn’t have, even before they were destroyed, parts now hanging loose or fallen off entirely.

A limp figure lay in the middle of it all. He was covered in soot and, now, snow. Lenore was afraid to float closer, but knew she had to. No one else would care, they’d write it off as a tragic accident and move on.

But H.G. meant something to her, Lenore felt, and even if it was a tragic accident, it was one that hit her particularly deep. She couldn’t write it off, even if she tried.

She settled herself gently next to him, kneeling so she could get in close. He was cold, and getting colder. Lenore knew what that meant. Shivering. Eyelids barely fluttering. She knew what that meant, too. She’d been there but she couldn’t let that happen to him.

“H.G.?” Lenore asked, wondering why (but understanding why) her voice came out soft. It hardly ever did that. “Are -“ She couldn’t ask him if he was ok. That would be too cruel.

“Can you hear me?” she asked instead.

He shivered again and, with great difficulty, turned to face her so he was fully in her arms. “Yes,” he answered, but didn’t really seem sure if that was right. “My dear Lenore - my dear, dear Lenore. You found me after all.”

The snow was coming in harder now, but neither of them minded - Lenore was already a ghost, and H.G. was fast becoming one.

“I did,” Lenore responded through a choked, hiccupy sob. “I - I’m so sorry. All this time, I was so selfish - I missed you and I’ve never missed anyone before and -“

He smiled, faint. “No, no, I should be sorry. I, too, am unused to emotional responses so I admit my feelings for you startled me.”

Despite herself, Lenore giggled at how formal he still is, even in a situation like this. Plus the ridiculousness of arguing over who should be more sorry for loving more.

There were bigger things at stake, and they both settled into that understanding.

“Lenore, before I -“

She started crying again, shaking her head. “No. Don’t say it. I - we’ll fix this somehow, won’t we? We have to, you can -“

“I felt you should know,” H.G. said. “Lenore -“ He paused, for much too long, and his eyes slipped close. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Lenore said, quiet, hoping he’d hear it - that he could still hear her. She leaned down to kiss him, and he kissed back before finally slumping out of her arms.

***

She wasn’t sure how much time passed. It was as if time itself had frozen around her as the snow continued to fall onto H.G.’s body. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to completely let go of him. At some point the tears had stopped and had been replaced by a numbness that Lenore couldn’t describe if she tried. She was cold. She’d never been cold before, but the snow was getting caught in her hair and brushing over her arms.

She knew, in the back of her mind, that eventually others would come and discover the accident. It was only a matter of time; the explosion had been loud enough that surely someone else on campus had heard and alerted the authorities.

Lenore held onto H.G. for as long as she could. She didn’t even need to concentrate hard at all - to be able to hold him and feel him in her arms, felt like the easiest thing in the world. And besides, she didn’t want to leave even though she knew that eventually someone would come in and wonder why a literature professor was in the middle of burnt, charred wreckage, being held half-upright by some invisible force.

Sure enough, she soon heard voices just outside the door. Some were loud, shouting for backup, and others were muffled and static-y, as if they were coming through - a cell phone? A walkie-talkie? Lenore still wasn’t entirely familiar with modern technology (that time H.G. had shown her his laptop was a very exciting moment for her).

She saw red and blue flickering lights outside the wall that had been half-destroyed by the explosion. Police, the fire department, an ambulance - Lenore almost started crying again, knowing how useless that last one would be.

Lenore floated gently, quietly, out of sight to watch what was going on. A group of men and women in uniform were now grouping in the room. They mutttered to themselves. Someone took notes. Still more gathered around H.G.’s body until she couldn’t see him anymore. It didn’t feel fair, even though she knew it was the right thing for them to be doing.

Now she had to figure out just what he’d been up to, and why the accident had happened in the first place.

***

Ghosts don’t dream, or at least they shouldn’t. Lenore knew, though, that H.G. - for the brief time she’d known him - had changed her (after)life completely. Broken all the rules, both for himself and for her.

Perhaps it was slipping back into her existence pre-H.G., where she just floated without direction. She kept picturing him: his laugh, those rolled-up sleeves, those ridiculous goggles, his shyness and earnest curiosity. Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to see him again meant that she gathered those memories like small, precious trinkets.

She spent even more time in the English department, since that was where she felt his presence most strongly. Eavesdropping on snatches of conversation in order to find out what was happening there now that he was gone.

Lenore learned that all his classes had been cancelled indefinitely, until they could find a replacement. Evidently Professor Hemingway wasn’t interested, and that poetry professor (why could she never remember her name??? Emma - Emilia - something something) seemed too quiet to really lead a class effectively. Professor Wilde was the leader of the department and he kept wringing his hands over trying to find someone new. There was talk - only a rumor, as far as Lenore could tell - that someone named Poe was under consideration. He taught literature at some school just outside Baltimore.

H.G.’s office was boarded up, but thankfully no one had moved his things. She started spending a lot of time there. It felt more and more like home - her new jam, replacing her attic.

She’d browse through his bookshelves, and even began reading some of the books he’d written. His style of writing sounded exactly like his voice, so that felt nice: it was as if she could hear him once more.

When she found she was really missing him she’d pull out his stacks of notes and attempt to make sense of them. She still hadn’t quite figured out what he’d been planning but she knew it involved some sort of plan to win her back.

If only she hadn’t been so stubborn.

***

Lenore found herself in H.G.’s office once again. She’d heard the talk of someone coming to clean out his things soon and she wanted to save what she could. After all, the man was dead and no one had been in his office since he died except her, so no one would notice if anything was missing.

She began piling things on the desk to carry up to the attic. All his books, notes, diagrams. The letter, too - although she wasn’t ready to read it again, and maybe never would be, she couldn’t just throw that out. And other things that somehow she couldn’t leave behind for some nobody to clean up. These people didn’t know H.G. and they wouldn’t treat his things with the proper respect.

She couldn’t stand the thought of his things carelessly tossed into boxes, only to be thrown away.

As she worked, Lenore began to notice that maybe she wasn’t the only one who had taken an interest in H.G.’s work. There were outlines of dust marking where things had been taken or moved.

It angered her. How dare someone come in and mess with her dear - with H.G.’s things.

And then she found it. A note. A new note that she swore hadn’t been there the night before when she’d been researching H.G.’s inventions again.

_Lenore,  
As I’m sure you’re aware at this point, your beloved H.G. is dead. Make no attempts to uncover his work or his death will not be the worst thing you’ve had happen to you. His work took him where he should not have gone, and I implore that you do not make the same mistakes your beloved professor made himself. This will be your only warning._

There was no signature on the note.

She threw it in the fireplace. She was already dead, and the love of her life was also dead. What more could anyone do to her?


	5. Chapter Four

Lenore turned her anger into fuel. No one threatens her. How _dare_ they? How could they think they understood who H.G. was and what he meant to her? 

The implication that this mysterious person had also killed H.G. was enough to make her blood boil - if she had blood that is. Instead she channeled her anger into productivity. 

Lenore finished moving all of H.G.’s things to her attic. It had taken time because she had to stay corporeal while she was holding things so she couldn’t just float upstairs like she usually did. And she so did not have time to explain to people who she was and why she was taking things from a dead person’s office.

She had carefully unfolded all of the diagrams, treating them as if they were the most fragile, precious things in the world. To her, they were. They were the last thing she had of her dear - no, she couldn’t think like that. Feelings are dumb, remember? It hurt too much to remember. She had better ways to honor his memory.

There was a memorial service on campus that she went to but the people who spoke were so cold. So stiff. They didn’t understand who he was. They just talked about his achievements and awards and research..and nothing about _him_ , the H.G. she knew and - ok, fine. Loved. The H.G. she loved. There was no mention of the way his eyebrow quirked up when he smiled at her when he knew she was joking. Not the small laugh he’d make when she got excited about a new piece of technology he was showing her. Not the rolled-up sleeves or the goggles.

(They weren’t talking about the man, and that made her sad. Angry. Both.)

She swore to herself that his death would not be in vain. There had to a reason behind it. The man was too smart to miss something that would have exploded and killed him. Maybe the accident wasn’t just an accident.

And so Lenore read. And read. And read.

***

Weeks passed and Lenore still felt no closer to figuring out what H.G. had been up to. His designs seemed to be some sort of elaborate invention but she wasn’t sure exactly what it was supposed to do.

Well, what it was supposed to do besides impress her, that is.

H.G. had made so many notes to himself...and some notes to her. Or maybe they were notes to himself about her. Sometimes it was hard to tell. The pages were littered with phrases like “make sure she sees this” or “what would Lenore think of this?” only to have him answer his own questions pages later with things like “she would hate this, you idiot.”

If her heart hadn’t already been broken by his death, this would have done it.

Based on his notes, Lenore put the diagrams in an order that seemed to make sense and finally was able to start putting pieces together. H.G. had been building an elaborate contraption that if she didn’t know better, looked almost like a time machine. The only way she could tell that was from his notes on the pages, not the actual diagrams and drawings. Those looked like something out of one of the novels he loved teaching to his students, all metal and wires with bits of technology she couldn’t begin to fathom. There were multiple notes about years and locations he thought she would like, and notes of years to “make sure to avoid.” There were lists of dates scrawled on other pages with notes about things to do on those dates specifically along with pages and pages of research about the weather in specific locations at times of the year and major events that had happened. 

Definitely a time machine.

But that would be silly. Time travel wasn’t real.

Based on his notes, though, it seemed like H.G. thought it was real. Or at least believed enough to make a prototype. Maybe he was going to use it as a prop in class to keep things interesting. 

Maybe this was how he had planned to get her to come back to class.

Lenore assembled the different remaining parts she’d salvaged in the order they appeared in the diagrams, but none of it made any sense to her.

There were also veiled references to someone else. At first Lenore thought this other person had been helping H.G. with his work, like a colleague or friend...but then she saw his messages take a darker turn. 

_“Watch out for him...he’s going to try and take her away from me.”_

***

The drawings and diagrams and notes took over her entire space in the attic. She’d been a bit put out when she’d had to take down a few of her posters, but this was more important.

(She was particularly sad to lose the last of the romance novel posters she had hanging up. A fantasy of a love lost and found. It was almost ironic.)

A timeline began to emerge before her. H.G. had been working on the machine since long before they’d met. For a literature professor, the man had an amazing grasp on mathematics and science...or so Lenore assumed from the multiple equations and formulas scattered throughout the pages. She couldn’t make sense of those if her (after)life depended on it.

She started collecting her own notes. Making sense of H.G.’s thoughts was one thing, but keeping her own thoughts straight was another. She copied down H.G.’s notes to himself in order and they started to form a story. Having his thoughts contained in one place instead of spread throughout multiple sheets of paper made him feel closer to her. It was as if she was protecting him. It was the least she could do.

Plus if she kept working then she wouldn’t risk dozing off and having H.G.’s final moments play out for her again in her brain. She always woke up crying. Besides, as a ghost she didn’t really need the sleep anyways. So she pressed on.

Some of the earlier notes still didn’t make sense to her. They were written in a very different handwriting, which made her think that at one point, H.G. had been working with someone else on the invention. But then that other person seemed to just...disappear. There were no notes from H.G. to indicate what had happened, and since Lenore couldn’t ask him directly, she was left to ponder.

She decided to take a snack break. Those always seemed to help. Lenore floated down to the cafeteria and over to the ice cream dispenser. Now _that_ was a machine she knew very well. Plus, it was always fun when students caught the lever moving as if by itself. Lenore helped herself to some soft serve and returned to the attic, eating it thoughtfully as she went.

She was just in the middle of finishing it, and checking to make sure she hadn’t accidentally spilled any on her dress ( _quelle horreur!_ ) when she realized that someone had visited her attic while she’d been gone.

Someone who definitely didn’t like the work she was doing.

The entire place was a mess. The timeline she’d carefully tacked up along one beam was completely ruined: all of the papers had been ripped to shreds and left scattered all over the floor. Worst of all, H.G.’s notebooks had been torn up, too: they were tossed on her bed, some facedown with the spines cracked, others on some of the boxes Lenore hadn’t had a chance to unpack yet.

Lenore’s eyes filled with tears. It felt like she’d lost him all over again. Who would do such a thing? She had the sinking suspicion that it was the same person who’d left her that threatening note.

As she floated aimlessly through her attic, surveying the damage and fully crying now, she noticed that a message had been spray-painted on the mirror of her vanity.

Yes, definitely the same person. The message said _I warned you._

***

It took about a week for Lenore to get any progress back from where she had been before the attic was destroyed. She’d started making sure that the things she cared most about were carefully locked up and put away each time she left...which was becoming less frequent because she was so scared that if she left again she’d lose everything.

She couldn’t lose him. Not again. This was all she had left. This was her only chance to figure out what happened.

(And the threatening messages certainly were proof that _something_ had indeed happened.)

Every time she returned after she left (only for food at this point, which she didn’t need on the account of being dead and all, but it certainly helped her stress levels) something was always amiss. Pages would go missing to be found completely hidden somewhere else in the attic. Notebooks that she was sure she’d locked away were pulled back out and thrown into corners of the attic.

And the messages. The messages continued. Always some sort of vague, ominous threat. Each one became more and more personal...and familiar, as if the sender knew her better than she thought they did. Like something out of a dream or a memory long lost to time. The latest one had called her “little flower,” and, as though mocking, continued: _Everything you hold dear will be destroyed if you continue to push me_. Lenore almost dropped the note in shock. It had been far too long since anyone had called her “little flower.” She couldn’t remember who’d called her that - it was probably before her death, even.

It was enough to make a girl paranoid.

Lenore couldn’t stand it. She decided to hide in one of the attic corners in order to try and catch the culprit. This had gone on long enough, and it wasn’t fair to her, much less to H.G.

So first she turned herself invisible, just in case they were watching, and floated away as quietly as possible, making sure not to rustle any pages and give herself away by accident. She nestled herself in amongst the few remaining boxes that hadn’t been ransacked, and waited.

As it happened, she didn’t have to wait long. A thumping noise started up near the attic door. It sounded as if someone was coming up the stairs. Lenore peered over the boxes and squinted, trying to see who it was. She just missed the back of someone’s tweed jacket as they brushed past her.

The person was bent over the little safe where Lenore had been keeping her most precious notes and memories. They were fiddling with the lock and muttering to themselves.

Lenore floated a bit higher over the boxes to get a better view and accidentally knocked one of them over. It landed with a loud clunk, which caused the person to stand up and turn around.

That face. She hadn’t seen that face since her almost-wedding, mumble-mumble years ago.

“Guy?”


	6. Chapter Five

“Hello, Lenore,” Guy said. His tone was level but he wore the faintest hint of a smirk. “Or should I say, little flower?” Guy chuckled. “You look good. How are things?”

He floated closer, which made Lenore realize that he’d become a ghost, too. She moved backwards, almost floating through the boxes. Lenore frowned and curled her hands into fists. “You know perfectly well how things are. And don’t call me ‘little flower.’ You lost your right to call me that ages ago.”

“Ooh, feisty.” Guy chuckled again. “What, does Herbert call you that?”

Lenore paused. Herbert?

Guy raised an eyebrow. “He never told you? His name’s Herbert George. Guess he didn’t care enough about you to share the most basic information about himself.”

“He told me the important things,” Lenore counters. She can’t let him see how much he’s getting to her.

“Right,” Guy says, rolling his eyes. “God, he didn’t even tell you about his life’s work. That machine of his.” Guy floats closer still until Lenore is nearly wedged into the corner. “Or should I say... _our_ machine.” Guy laughed, but not in the way Lenore remembered his laugh. She remembered a sweet laugh filled with promise, the way he’d sounded when they agreed to get married.

But this was a laugh that gave her chills. “Oh my. You mean he didn’t tell you? He didn’t tell you where this idea came from and that it’s not his alone?” Guy sighed dramatically and leaned even closer to Lenore. She shrunk into the corner. Although she knew she could just float through the wall, she was scared that if she did that everything would be destroyed. What little she had left of H.G. would be gone forever.

But then Guy moved back across the room. Lenore was almost overcome with relief, which changed rapidly to fear as she watched Guy sift through the remaining research and notes from H.G. Lenore rushed forward only to be stopped when Guy looked at her, a sinister expression growing on his face.

“Oh my dear, dear Lenore,” Guy said, shaking his head. Lenore felt nauseous. It wasn’t at all like when H.G. had called her “dear.” The way Guy said it was bitter, like she wasn’t worth anything at all.

“You didn’t think I’d let you keep this, did you?” Guy continued. He reached for the safe and spun the dial easily, making a disapproving _tsk tsk_ sound as he did so. “Silly girl, you made this way too easy. Never use someone’s birthday as a combination code.”

The small door of the safe opened with a click. Guy pulled out the papers - the last remaining parts of H.G. and began to sift through them with seemingly no care. No care that the last bits of the man she loved were being thrown onto the floor in crumpled parts, some of them ripped nearly to shreds.

“I believe I’ll be taking this.” He waived a piece of paper at her which contained some of the last notes and schematics of the machine. “After all, I don’t think you’d be able to make sense of it what with your…” he gestured vaguely at her “...lack of brains. All beauty and no brains. That’s all you ever were, and that’s all you will _ever_ be.” 

He turned to a pile of books Lenore had salvaged from H.G.’s office and pulled one out. Lenore had no idea why he was pulling out a yearbook, until he dropped it on the floor, open, and kicked it over to her. 

“It seems, my dear, that your Herbert hasn’t told you everything. Perhaps he didn’t care for you as much as you thought.” And then he turned and was gone, taking the research with him, leaving the rest of the papers in a crumpled heap on the floor.

She looked down at the open book in front of her and gasped. There on the page was a picture of Guy...and H.G.

Lenore sunk to the ground and picked up the book, cradling it in her hands. The two of them were standing next to each other, smiling awkwardly at the camera. She flipped through the book and found more pictures of Guy and H.G. together. Evidently they’d both been part of some science club.

They’d been friends. Close friends, it seemed, until something had gone wrong. Lenore was beginning to realize that something was her.

She paused at a picture of H.G. posing in front of some other robotic invention he’d created. He looked so...young. So full of life. And so nervous. Not the confident professor she’d grown to know and love. She traced his face with her fingertips. She wasn’t sure how much time passed as she stared at his face. 

Lenore didn’t realize she was crying until a tear landed on the page. She wiped carefully at it with a handkerchief so she wouldn’t ruin the picture.

“Lenore?”

She sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “What?” she snapped, not wanting to look up from the yearbook. “You’ve already done enough damage. Did you come back to gloat or something?”

“No, I -”

That voice. She knew that voice. And she’d thought she would never hear it again. Not quite wanting to believe it, Lenore finally looked up.

If she wasn’t a ghost already, Lenore was certain her heart would have given out. He was there. H.G. He was standing in front of her. And was very-much-not-dead. Not a corpse collapsed on the ground that had haunted her dreams since the night she’d found him.

No, this was H.G. as he’d been in class. The shirt with the sleeves slightly rolled up, the goggles pushed up on his head. Her slightly disheveled nerd.

“No…you’re...you’re dead. I watched you die. I _held_ you while you died.” She shut her eyes tight. It had to be a dream. A wicked trick being played on her by her imagination. 

But when she opened her eyes he was still there, gazing somewhat sadly at her.

Lenore felt something inside her snap. The frustration and heartbreak rushed forward in a tidal wave of emotion she didn’t know she was possible of possessing.

“No...you’re dead. This is cruel. Whoever is making you be here is just - this...this is mean. It’s not FAIR. You. DIED.” With her last words she hurled the yearbook at the ghost figure, expecting it to pass through him and he’d disappear...just like he always disappeared in her dreams as soon as she touched him.

But then he caught it….and then let it fall to the floor in front of him. 

“I’m here, Lenore. I’m real.”


	7. Chapter Six

Lenore backed away slowly. It had to be a trick. It had to be some evil trick to bring her down. She felt like fleeing. She felt like running away and leaving everything behind because there was no way the universe would be kind enough to give him back to her. She had too much experience with the universe taking away the good things in her life. This was still too good to be true.

“But...you...you died…” her voice trailed off. She had been so confident that he was gone and yet, now here he was.

H.G. stayed where he was and looked at her sadly, almost wistfully. “I’m here, Lenore,” he repeated. “I’m real.”

Lenore still couldn’t believe it. “Then why are you back?” she asked suspiciously.

H.G. looked as if he was about to float closer but then had thought better of it. Lenore was caught between wanting him to stay and wanting him to leave. “After I died - there were complications,” he explained slowly.

“It was like you left your body behind, right?” Lenore finished for him. That at least she was familiar with. It almost made her smile at the idea that for once, she knew more about something than he did.

“Yes,” H.G. answered. “I became a ghost. It was a weird sort of limbo, but very fascinating. I floated, aimless, until something powerful drew me back to the university. I felt such pain and despair and it felt like I _had_ to go back. I couldn’t help but come back. It was as though I was meant to be here, that I had unfinished business. I believe that’s why many ghosts linger. They have something keeping them in this world.”

Now he looked at her less sadly, and even attempted a small smile. “Something like you, Lenore.”

She blushed and felt herself starting to cry again. “No, no, please don’t -“ H.G. began, concerned. He floated towards her and reached out cautiously before pulling her into a hug.

“I missed you,” Lenore said, sniffling into his chest. “So much. Like, I’ve never hurt that way, nothing ever mattered to me until we met.”

H.G. gave her a tight squeeze before looking down at her fondly. “I probably missed you more.” He wiped away her tears. “Do you know how proud I am of you? That you’ve continued on my work?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lenore said. “About the machine?” She’s mad at him for that, but also so scared about what Guy’s done to her - to them - that her love for H.G. just swallows it back up.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” H.G. responded. “To impress you. I’ve never had a girl that I wanted to impress before so I got carried away.”

Lenore giggled. “I read your notes about that. While I was working and trying to figure out the machine. Guess I really got to you, huh?”

Now it was H.G.’s turn to blush, but he laughed, too. “I suppose so.”

“I’m glad you came back,” Lenore said softly. “I was waiting.”

As soon as she said it, Lenore realized that she’s always been waiting. Not just for H.G., but for something bigger than that. For love itself.

It was then that she leaned up to kiss him. The kiss was different - better - than the kiss they shared before. This one was both serious and joyful, like a celebration of his return. H.G. kissed her back, but gently, letting her take the lead as though he was silently telling her, allowing her, to take what she wants, what she needs.

When she pulled away at last, he looked a little woozy. “Wow.”

Lenore laughed again and gave him another little smooch for good measure. “Wow indeed. I - I’ve wanted to do that pretty much ever since I met you, really,” she admitted. “And I don’t think that one we shared - before, um.” She cleared her throat instead of saying it. “That one doesn’t count.”

“Definitely not,” H.G. agreed. Then he smiled in a sort of rakish way that made Lenore feel very silly and lightheaded. Who knew that “nerd” and “sexy” were not mutually exclusive? “Ever since you met me, huh?”

Lenore looked away. “Maybe.” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling either, though. She was just so happy that he was back.

***

Lenore had so many questions for H.G. Some questions he was able to answer (Was it a time machine? Yes.) and some he was not (How did you come back? ...I don’t know.)

But through all the questions and answers (from both of them) the one constant was each other. Their days filled with things like small touches of each other’s arms and hands as they put all of the research back in order and with laughter as they talked about anything and everything. Now they had all the time in the world.

From time to time they’d stop and kiss. Sometimes briefly and sometimes, well, not-so-brief. Lenore hadn’t decided which kind were her favorite. She liked being able to quickly kiss H.G.’s cheek when he came up with some sort of breakthrough...but she also liked tackling him backwards onto the couch and kissing him senseless. 

Both. Both were good.

Lenore still had one burning question to ask.

“So what does H.G. stand for?”

H.G. laughed. “I already told you I can’t tell you...it’s terribly embarrassing.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, daring her to challenge this.

“Well then I’m just going to assume it’s something horrible then. I know the first part is Herbert…” H.G.’s face turned a delightful shade of red at this revelation. So Guy was telling the truth about that, then. She smirked and continued. “Herbert….Garrison...Gustav…” Lenore started giggling which turned into laughter. She couldn’t keep talking. Watching H.G.’s face turn even redder did not help her stop laughing.

“It’s Herbert George,” H.G. muttered, hoping Lenore wouldn’t hear him over her laugher. But of course, she had heard him.

“That’s a terrible name!” she exclaimed before falling over laughing all over again.

“I told you it was embarrassing…” H.G. said to himself. He busied himself in his work, not daring to look up at Lenore who was still giggling.

Lenore floated over to H.G. gently and looped her arms around his waist and hugging him from behind. “It’s like, totally cool though. I promise I won’t use it around other people. Can you imagine? They’d make fun of me too for being with you and like, that would totally destroy my reputation.” 

H.G. snorted and turned around to face her properly. “What reputation, my dear? You’re dead and no one besides me knew you even lived up here.”

“Oh well you know...my...ghostly haunting mmph-” She was cut off by H.G.’s lips on her own. This kiss was different than the others where he’d let her take the lead. This was needy and raw. And fast. His hands wound into her hair and she had a fleeting thought that she’d have to fix it later, but she couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed by it. He was kissing her everywhere and she felt almost as if she could float away, right through the ceiling, except for his hands anchoring her to the here and now. 

And then suddenly she found herself pushed backwards up against the trunk behind her and it was only when she tripped and started to fall over that H.G. stepped back, breathing heavily.

“Woah.” Lenore felt dazed. She had to regain her balance, forgetting for a moment that she was a ghost and she can just float. 

“Whoah.” H.G. agreed, smiling. And then he closed the distance between them and leaned down to kiss her again. Slower this time, but not with less desire.

It was a few hours before any real work resumed in the attic.

***

“Okay so like...how does this all actually work?”

It was a few weeks later and H.G. had finally recreated all the diagrams that had been stolen or destroyed by Guy. Lenore had been very impressed with his ability to remember everything...until H.G. had explained that he had a backup of everything stored on some sort of external device for his computer that she didn’t quite understand. It was all super technical and so not her jam so she nodded and went along with it.

Now they had everything back in order and it had all once more taken over her entire attic. She and H.G. had also “borrowed” several books from the school library that he had used to fill in missing gaps in the research. It all seemed super important, but definitely not something Lenore would have ever made sense of on her own.

“Well you see...this is a very rudimentary design for a machine that well...well it was really just intended to be a model, you see. But it’s a model time machine. I might be a professor of literature but machines and inventing have always been a sort of...passion project of mine.” H.G. rubbed the back of his head nervously with his hand, refusing to meet Lenore’s eyes. “I suppose I got a bit carried away with this one.”

“Soooo like, do you think time travel is real then?”

“Not...um...it’s not that it’s not real it’s...well you see it’s more of a theory than something that’s been tested and well…”

Lenore started laughing “I was joking, you nerd.” H.G. turned a wonderful shade of red which only made Lenore laugh more. 

Lenore floated over to him with every intention of kissing him, but then, out of nowhere, was rudely interrupted.

“So you’ve been doing this _here_? On top of _my_ work?”

As the pair turned towards the voice, Guy floated towards them, shaking his head. “And here I thought you’d learned your lesson, dear Herbert. Never mix work and pleasure.”


	8. Chapter Seven

Guy floated across the room, shaking his head at the couple. Lenore felt H.G. tense up next to her. She wasn’t big on the whole “damsel in distress” thing but she definitely was thankful she had H.G. with her to deal with this. 

“Oh my dear Lenore, you do know you’ve hurt me so. But I’ll let you make it up to me later after I’ve dealt with your--”

“No.” Lenore interrupted. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. I’m not your ‘dear' anything, especially since I waited for you - I waited for you to come back, to find me, but you just. You died. You left me behind. So, like, why would I even let you call me that? Ever.”

Guy shook his head. “Oh, silly Lenore, I never left you. I tried to come back, and when I did, I spent all my time trying to find where you’d gone! So, from my perspective, you left me. Do you know how frightening it was to return to the house we’d planned to live in together, only to find it empty? To discover you hadn’t waited for me? Then to pursue H.G. and his project, our project, and see you together?!”

He had floated closer with every word, making Lenore feel like she had to shrink into the corner. At some point she had grabbed hold of H.G.’s hand and was holding on tighter than she’d ever held anything. He must be concentrating really hard, too, because his hand feels warm, solid, safe in hers.

“No. No. You’re wrong, you -”

“I what? I what, Lenore. You said I was the love of your life and you left and moved on so quickly after I died. You didn’t wait for me. And then to find you with someone I trusted...a friend.” Guy turned his gaze to H.G. “You took her from me. Without a second thought. Without bothering to put the pieces together that she was mine. And you know, my dear,” he continued, turning back to Lenore, “you weren’t the first person he was working on this machine for. Oh no. He had another girl. Another love of his life. And he threw that away all for what...teaching literature at this god-forsaken school and a ghost he just met a week ago?” Guy laughed, which was a horrible, hollow, bitter sound. Lenore found herself clinging to H.G. “Oh my dear….he doesn't love you. You’re just a replacement.”

Just as Guy is headed into another rant, H.G. let go of Lenore’s hand to cut him off with a punch. He was definitely concentrating because it landed hard and sent Guy reeling back into one of the many boxes littering the attic. Lenore gasped. The situation had gotten super out of hand, but she couldn’t lie, having H.G. defend her honor was kind of a turn-on.

“That’s it. Spare us your tragic backstory,” H.G. said, panting as he floated over to stand over Guy’s body. “You forget that I knew you before I knew Lenore. I already know where you come from and who you are.”

Guy laughed from his place on the floor. “My, you have gotten feisty since we last met. Maybe Lenore is doing more for you than I thought she was. After all, she’s not much...a pretty little thing, yes, but that’s about where the accolades end…”

Guy was silenced by a kick from H.G. Lenore couldn’t believe that Guy...someone she once thought she loved could be so cold. So heartless. Totally not like the guy she’d been with. Plus, like, who was he to say that she was nothing? She was not nothing. She was a person with feelings and hopes and dreams and…

...she was sitting there staring and not intervening before the two men beat themselves senseless. It was ridiculous, and she totally did NOT want to have to deal with cleaning up the attic. Again. 

“Oh my god, like, would you just stop?” Lenore floated over to the two men and attempted her best to look somewhat intimidating. It was a bit hard since let’s be real, she was a catch, but she put her hands on her hips and frowned. Better than nothing.

“Like, I get it. H.G. had other girls before me. Not a big deal. Sure, it kind of stings and I’ll have to ask him for more details later, but whatevs! This girl’s gotten around, too.” She smirked and held up a manicured hand against Guy’s impending protests. “Let’s see, who was it? Oh, that’s right, you and I used to be together. Gee, where’d that go, hmm?”

No wonder Guy loved monologuing, Lenore thought to herself. Once you got going, it was kinda hard to stop.

“You’re too focused on your revenge and your interest in causing pain to people who loved you to bother seeing that. I loved you, Guy. You know that. Like, we were gonna get married and everything and it was going to be totally amazing and then I just had to screw it all up and die. And like, do you think I didn’t try to find you? After I was brought back my family told me you were dead.”

Guy at least had the decency to look chastised. But Lenore wasn’t done. She shook her head and floated up next to H.G., slipping her arm around his waist and squeezing him. The display of affection clearly rattled Guy, because he started sputtering.

“I’m not nothing, Guy. I never was. You were, and I’m so happy to finally know that.”

And with that H.G. reached out and pulled a lever on the machine next to him. He had been hoping Guy wouldn’t figure it out before he had a chance. He and Lenore had planned and hoped of course, but they knew they only had one chance to end all of this for good.

H.G. felt Lenore’s hand join his and they both held on as a large shining portal opened in the middle of the room. Wind picked up from nowhere as the portal widened, pulling papers and spare bits of parts into the abyss while Lenore and H.G. held on to the lever and each other. 

It was super weird feeling the pull of something she just couldn’t float away from. Sure, H.G. had prepared her for what this was going to feel like and had warned that under no circumstances was she to let go of the lever or him because there was still a risk the portal could take them, too. Knowing it was going to happen did not make it less weird or make it any easier to hold on. The portal was super strong...something about particles being pulled to where they belonged and afterlife science-y things that Lenore hadn’t really followed.

Guy was not fast enough to avoid being caught in the pull of the portal. He screamed, clawing at them, but just before his fingers could reach out and pull them in, too, he was sucked away. They heard his screams die out as the portal closed in on itself and vanished. The smoke cleared and it was finally just the two of them, standing there hand in hand. Lenore was breathing hard - both from the effort of trying to resist the portal and from utter relief.

Guy was gone. They had done it.


	9. Epilogue

_Many years later..._

 

The university remembers them. Lenore hangs out in the lecture hall, same as before. They replaced H.G. with that weird guy from Baltimore - Eddie something? He writes totally depressing stuff, so not her jam, but he’s also, if possible, even more fun to annoy than H.G. was. He spooks easily.

She particularly likes to pop into different chairs in the classroom and wave at him. It always caused him to stumble through whatever part of the lecture he was in, and then he’d wax poetic about spirits long gone to this world or something else totally boring. It was cool that he could see her, of course, but it was really too bad that he thought that ghosts were mystical or something. Lenore didn’t think that way about herself at all.

H.G. told her she was being too hard on the guy and then Lenore dragged him along to hear the next lecture. He didn’t argue with her after that. Especially after he raised his hand to answer a question (because you can take the scholar out of the classroom but you can’t take the classroom out of the scholar) and he started to answer it before he realized the teacher and students were startled that his voice seemed to be coming out of nowhere. He did have to admit it was sort of fun.

The attic became more and more a space for both of them. H.G.’s inventions and machines and tinkerings spread out as if they had a life of his own...something Lenore was perfectly content to allow so long as she could keep all of her boy band posters and romance novels.

She must have been getting lazy with hiding because she could hear students talking about her, that beautiful woman in a wedding dress, sitting in the back of class. Lenore laughed when she heard one of the quarterbacks complain, “I tried to get her number but she just, like, vanished!”

She heard them talking about H.G., too, how he’s this awkward ghost, always floating around the labs, goggles on his head.

She hears the students wonder about them and try to fill in the gaps.

She hears them, but knows that their stories will never be as good as the real thing.


End file.
